Love Is
by coffee-not-decaf
Summary: You're watching him die and there's nothing you can do.


You're watching him die and there's nothing you can do.

You met him in the midst of spring, although it hadn't felt like spring. But that was London for you. April twenty-fourth, at four minutes past nine in the evening. You remember because you had just looked at your watch, wondering if Leon was ever going to show up for the film you were supposed to see.

You had been extremely annoyed at the time, but today, as you sit scuffing your shoes against the linoleum floor in the ICU, you can't even recall what movie it had been. You only remember colliding into Arthur on a street corner and, realizing your best mate wasn't about to make an appearance, offered to buy the attractive stranger a drink in exchange for nearly steamrolling him.

You first impression of Arthur was that he was an arrogant ponce, but a charming and good-looking one, and he made you smile in a way that made your heart beat just the tiniest bit faster than ordinary.

The two of you had exchanged numbers at the end of the night and gone out for coffee the next morning.

You'd had a caramel mocha that day, and Arthur had ordered French vanilla. You've been remembering tidbits like this all night, little antecedents from your time with him that make you grin until you realize you might never get another one of those precious moments in your life.

Today you don't have a caramel mocha, and no one to share it with either. You have the sludge they serve at the hospital cafeteria, and you can barely force it down your throat for fear of hurling it back up.

Eating solid food has been difficult for you lately.

Although probably less so than for Arthur, hooked up to an IV for the past eighteen hours with no tangible signs of improvement.

He's been slipping away bit by bit and there's nothing you can do but watch it happen, watch him dissolve into nothingness.

There's no monster you can fight here. You're good at fighting monsters. You're not so good at fighting against time, against God, against the universe.

They're all ignoring your prayers.

You never prayed, not before today, when Arthur's breaks had failed. Now it seemed as if prayer is your only purpose. You don't believe, though, not really, and you're losing what little faith you have now, now that not a single prayer of yours has been answered.

Well, you've only been praying for one thing.

There's no comfort in waiting rooms. Gwen and Leon tried – they had gotten here before you, heard the news first. You had been up in Glasgow last night, on your yearly visit to see your father. Gwen had called you, sobbing, and you had driven all night to arrive at the hospital.

You had probably broken every speed limit on the road, but you were past the point of caring.

Morgana had been the first to greet you, throwing her arms around you and crying into your jacket. You weren't crying at that point, just hugging her – tears had blurred your vision the whole drive down and there weren't many more left.

Gwen had been next, and you held her close and whispered comfort, but your words sounded hollow and empty.

With Leon you had just exchanged a look, and he pulled you into a gruff, one-armed hug. Leon hadn't ever been much of a hugger, but you had never been more grateful that you had a best friend.

Gwaine, Elena, Percival, Mithian, Elyan, Lancelot – they had gotten there later, but you hadn't been there to greet them. You were with Arthur – or rather, Arthur's lifeless body. It wasn't really him, it couldn't be, not within a smirk and an exasperated sigh and a fond look across a crowded room and a light kiss against your lips.

He was so far away from you in that moment.

It seemed you hadn't run out of tears yet.

"They told me that I should come and say goodbye to you," you spoke and your voice cracked. It was scratchy from lack of use and too many loud, wretched sobs. "I won't do that, though. Not yet. Come on, prat, wake up. Please."

There was no response other than the steady beat of the machine behind you signaling that Arthur was still breathing.

"Please, for me," You didn't want it to sound like you was begging, but Arthur was pale and drawn from blood loss and there were tubes in his nose that breathed for him. "I…I don't want to watch you die. I will, but I don't want to. You're running away from me, love."

You didn't say much else, just held his hand and pressed a kiss against his forehead. You had done that so many times in the mornings, when you woke up first. He always looked peaceful when he slept, beautiful – but he wasn't sleeping right now.

Now you were back out in the waiting room with everyone else, where there's nothing except a blurry television and sludge-filled coffee and you would give anything to trade places with Arthur right now.

You can't lose him.

But as the rest of Arthur's family and friends go home to sleep, or to contact other loved ones of Arthur's that may want to be here for him, you stay.

You know why they're leaving – they don't to see him go.

But you'll be here.

You'll watch him die.

So you sit in a place full of goodbyes and go through your mental photo box of memories. You remember Arthur, head thrown back and laughing at some stupid joke you told, of him grinning in joy at Leon and Gwen's engagement party, nearly crying when his father died of a heart attack.

You remember holding him, kissing him soundly and fully, loving him with all you have, with all you'll ever have.

You know that after he dies, there won't be anyone else for you. You used to think the concept of soulmates was a bit of a lark, but then you met him – and he was perfect, perfectly imperfect in every possible way.

There would never be another Arthur for you.

You hope that you never forget him.

Still, you're so grateful, so, so grateful that you met him. You would rather lose him a thousand times over in a different way every time, go through all the pain the universe could ever offer you, than never know him at all.

He's your other half, and you won't be complete without him.

Ten years – you've been with him for ten years, since you were twenty-two and he was twenty-three – and that was all the time you had been granted.

When the nurse came running out with a panicked look on her face and her wide brown eyes met yours, you suddenly realized that for all this thinking, all this remembering –

You weren't ready for this.

You're holding his hand and whispering goodbye when the machine flat lines and his pulse slows to a stop.

And you're crying because you never thought that this was what love would look like.


End file.
